I’m getting ready to sell tacos, praying that I will be able to raise the money for a PTSD service dog
I ran out of a restaurant last night because of my PTSD. I got scared and aggressive and I left my friend in there after screaming at her.
Walking down the street is hard
I can’t even drive a car
I can’t go out on dates
I can’t sleep
Eating is so hard
My life is a waking nightmare
Where I try to stop remembering
Because the past has swallowed my future.
I want to be free, but I am afraid.
I have learned all too well that men like him are everywhere. In church in school in the workplace and if I am not careful…
Mamma Mia, here we go again 😵
I’ve been asked if rape feels good.
No. No it doesn’t. It hurts. It only ever hurts.
I want this to be over more than anyone.
When I write in my blog at the end of the day, I want to write the words
I. Am. Better.
In all caps for a post and walk away from the computer to a husband, a home, and a dog.
But such is not the story of my life.
I sleep in darkness. I wake up in darkness.
I am constantly sickened by tendrils of memory clinging to me.
I am always afraid.
I get angry. I lash out. I trust no-one. I get even more lonely and angry and upset.
What you see as crazy, I see as a reality of living with trauma.
Veterans get PTSD from fighting a war.
I am no different. I had to fight for my life since birth. I had to stand up to men who were stronger, bigger, and who were disguised as wolves in sheep’s clothing
Does anything help me?
Not really. Not anymore.
The truth helps a little. Because I know now that it doesn’t help me make many friends. But the truth helps to clean the wound, end the shame.
How could I feel ashamed? It wasn’t my fault.
I remember one time he had a knife. He was going to kill me and rape my sister- and my little sister was in that room with us. If I had cried, he might have hurt her. Killed her even.
Carrying a secret like that for 13 years was enough on its own to turn anyone crazy.
I’m really really really not crazy.
I’m having a normal reaction to a lifetime of trauma and warfare.
Still a person.
Still want hugs and a dog and a boyfriend and I also still really like cupcakes. Still a warrior. I face my demons night and day and somehow I go on.
I’m really normal. I’m no more crazy than you.
And about this last guy, now that I know nothing will be done to protect others, I think the best way I can help myself and other girls is to keep talking about it.
Men like him fear the truth.
And because I know that that is their fear, I will continue to tell the truth.
I will not be ashamed. I will not be afraid.
No matter what they do to me, I will not be silenced again.
It will not be beautiful unless you count a phoenix being burnt to cinders beautiful. But the thing about being a phoenix… we rise from the ashes.
So go ahead have your opinions. Make up your mind. It’s not my business what you think. I have tacos to sell and a service dog to get.
I also have a report to file.
Yeah you heard me right.
Let’s go to war,
I am a girl* worth fighting for.